


Falling, Falling, Fallen

by blazingstar29



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom John Watson, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt John Watson, Love, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingstar29/pseuds/blazingstar29
Summary: Dead Dove; Don't EatJohn Watson and Sherlock Holmes are at a university party and neither are having a good time, but the night is still young.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Falling, Falling, Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> First time at writing this sorta thing, so ah have fun? 
> 
> Not edited.

Warwick Hall was full to the brim with university students. Music was pulsing and the floor was tacky with skilled beer. Sherlock gazed at the party goers with a bored eye. There would be no peace in his dorm room, just a flight of stairs above and Greg was worried he ‘wasn’t getting out enough.’ Which resulted in Sherlock sulking down a ten metre staircase to take part in the party. 

There was nothing of interest. Not until someone began shouting from being deep in the throng. 

“Oh the fucks sake,” Greg shouted next to him. Confused, Sherlock looked between him and the restless group.

“Why, what's happened?” He asked earnestly. Greg switched hands with the drink he was holding and pointed into the crowd.

His finger led to a group of burghley looking young men facing off another group. “The short one on a crutch is John Watson, full ride on a rugby scholarship. Trying to become a doctor or sum’n. The skinny lad with the shitty beard did a foul tackle and caused him to tear his ACL. He’s out for the season maybe more.”

Sherlock nodded, “and they’re from another Uni? Why would they show up here?” He was not ashamed of showing that he kept up with nothing to do with Universities politics and sports. It wasn’t something he needed to know.

“No idea. To gloat I guess? Don’t think our boys are happy. Watson’s like a bullet, no way we’re winning this season without him.” Just as Greg finished his sentence, The Cause happened when a guy standing next to ‘shitty beard’ made a swipe at John’s crutch, effectively unbalancing him so he fell backwards into a teammate. The Effect of this was an all out brawl between teams, no doubt resulting in a suspension from game play come monday morning. Scrambling on the floor to get out of the way John was trampled beneath the brawl. 

Greg swore and jumped forward to help the shorter man to his feet. He grappled with Greg for a minute, at first thinking it was a foe before trying to get back to the fight. But the welshman held him steady.

“Don’t fuck yourself other even more,” he growled. Spying the silver crutch kicked under a couch Sherlock weaved through the onlookers and retrieved it, returning to were John and Greg were still grappling with each other. 

Handing the crutch to John, he said “lets go up stairs.” Not waiting for John’s response, Greg tugged him on up the stairs with Sherlock following. Thankfully they were safe in Sherlock’s room when the booming voice of the RA started telling people to bugger off. 

The three of them stood in the middle of Sherlock’s room looking rather put out. Sherlock’s bed lay against the wall and on the other was his desk. Greg grabbed the spinny chair and pushed it at John with the unspoken ‘sit’. Then he scrutinised Sherlock’s bed.

“Since when did you have a double bed?”

Eyes flicking between the bed and Greg, Sherlock simply said, “since you said I should start getting out more.” This made Greg and the solemn looking John laugh.

“Having much luck?” Greg got out when he finished. He looked over his shoulder as he leant down into the fridge and smiled lightly.

“It’s done it’s purpose.” He stood and offered some a can to his visitors. 

Greg shook his head pitifully, “I’ve had enough.” But John accepted it gratefully. Comfortable conversation came across them as Sherlock and John got to know each other. John was in fact studying to become a doctor, an army doctor.

“It’s why getting injured is such a pissup. Scholarship and all,” he grouched.

“Wouldn’t the army pay for you?” Sherlock inquired. 

John’s face twisted bitterly. “I didn’t fit their criteria. Too much shit on my record.”

Greg scoffed, he was perched on Sherlock’s oak desk. “What in the shit did you get up to Watson?” He shrugged nonchalantly and didn’t quite meet Greg’s eye.

“It wasn’t what I did. It’s what my father did, and what he made me do.” The silenced Greg and he went back to drinking his tea. In the end Greg left first leaving Sherlock and John to have an amenable and slightly flirtatious conversation.

“So, are you out to stud or got yourself a girl?” John asked. His speech absolved of all eloquence he had when he was sober. Sherlocked smiled and indulged his new acquaintance. 

“I don’t care for the relationships, just the kicks, the thrills.” 

In what was in John’s mind meant to be alluring or flirtatious, he shuffled over on his spinny chair to wear Sherlock was sitting on his bed.

“And what gives you a thrill,” he asked bracing his forearms on the bed. The sober John inside was still well in charge, but drunk John was urging on his bravery. Sherlock looked down at him. During their conversation Sherlock’s gut had been twisting and turning with attraction. Not only was John decently intelligent, he was also incredibly attractive.

Sherlock licked his lips and reached a hand forward and cupped John’s cheek. 

“Right now? Hm, I’d have to say you.”

John raised his knee and crawled onto the bed. Sherlock lowered his hands to John;s arms and pulled him forward. In the back of his mind John worried about his weight as he straddled the tall dark stranger he just met. His rugby fitness regime wasn’t quite the same as the lean soccer players, but Sherlock seemed unaffected. 

Long spindly fingers explored underneath John’s shirt. He flinched away at the touch, acutely aware of his out of work rugby shape. Somehow, Sherlock seemed to read his mind and gently manipulated John onto his beck. With their places swapped Sherlock trailed a hand down John’s chest. Deftly he wired at other mans shirt buttons but John;s hands reached for Sherlock’s wrists.

“What’s wrong?” The tall man immediately recoiled sitting back on his haunches.

“No-”John’s voice was croaky. “-Nothing just. I’m sorry.”

“No, no don’t be sorry. Are you okay?” Sherlock asked earnestly. 

John looked away and back again, “I have scars. On, on my back. And they, they are ugly and…”

Sherlock shushed him gently, “we all had demons sleeping beneath the road.” He cupped John’s face and brought their foreheads together. 

“I don’t, I don’t want to just be another notch on your bed post. I know we’ve only just met but...:” Again he was gently silenced.

“I don’t think you will be, you’re more than that.” He leaned foreward into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

“If I haven’t completely killed the mood, I’d like to keep going if you want to?” Sherlock hummed and pushed John back onto the bed and proceeded to undo his shirt buttons. There was nothing rushed between them. The air was thick with desire, but not with lust. 

Together they searched each other’s bodies, hands trailing. Soft kisses and reassurances. Hands reaching for belt buckles and flapping around in the side table for lube and condoms. There was no clumsy conversation, they both picked up each other’s energy. Cool hands caressed the small of John’s back as another held firm on his waist. 

Just like before, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow and careful. Sherlock saw the scars John was worried about and took great care not to grip onto them. He started slow and careful but quickly built up to a steady pace. 

It was all over very quickly. The pair of them slumped together, curled around each other. Panting and sweaty and John still had his socks on but they were quickly falling in love.

And right now, falling in love was enough. 

But the sex was good too.

  
  



End file.
